The Metamorphosis
by The Raven's Writing Desk
Summary: Change. It occurs in every life, such as the metamorphosis from caterpillar to pupa, pupa to butterfly. Kozmotis is about to find out just how much change has occurred over the last several millennia that he has been the one thing he fought hardest to suppress.
1. Chapter 1

Thus far the night had been quiet. Pitch stood, basking in the pale light of the setting sun as it filtered morosely through the stained-glass cathedral windows, painting his passive face with the dulled colors of an age now passing. He stood with his eyes closed, hands held loosely behind his back as his thumb stroked a light circle over his knuckles. Though he was a creature of the nocturnal, he did not shy away from this fading light. There was no need to. Especially when the ever-present siren song of sweet, intoxicating Fear rung so loudly from the mortals below, feeding his only recently recultivated power. He mused at their reason for attending Mass in the first place, craning his neck to gaze with cold silver eyes at the fresco of cherubic angels and clouds and saints above his head; religion had a fickle way of breeding guilt, and hatred, and _fear. _It was ironic, and the Nightmare King chuckled darkly.

Turning back to the pleated glass, his eyes narrowed. The sun had dipped just barely below the horizon line, splashes of orange and red painting the clouds like the aftermath of a battle. A glimpse of gold caught his eye.

"You've started early this evening, dear Sandman." He muttered to himself, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Sinking into the vague shadows of the sill, Pitch reappeared silently from behind a headstone in the center of a nearby graveyard. He drew his arms behind his back again, resolutely, watching the Sandman work in calculated thought. A wisp of cold air drew his attention to the immediate left, and the Nightmare King had to duck most ineloquently out of sight as the Frost child made a very sudden, very _unexpected _appearance. The dark man thought on the absurdity of the situation; it was midsummer, there was no call for cold of his kind at this time nearly anywhere in the United States, let alone a dry valley in Washington.

He heard the Wintery Spirit speaking jovially with his fellow Guardian, tossing carelessly with the wind and dodging strands of the Dream Weaver's sand as he laughed. Pitch made a disgusted noise, his nose wrinkling as he spat _'asinine half-wits' _under his breath. Bits of Nightmare Sand swirled around his feet as his blood boiled.

He had still not gotten over his humiliating defeat at the hands of the Guardians, and _especially _had not healed from his bruised ego after being rebuffed by Jack Frost. With a growl, he thought, _'I never will, either.'_

His attention was drawn back to the scene before him, watching with blazing eyes as the boy in question waved at the Sandman and settled on a rooftop, kicking his feet off the edge childishly while he watched the other work.

A thought occurred to him, then, the whispering of the Fearlings planting a poisonous idea in his twisted mind. He smiled with vicious intent, the black sand carving at the grave-dirt hungrily as it devoured his form and he appeared to sink into the soil.

* * *

Jack Frost sat lazily back on his elbows, the mossing shingles digging lightly into his pale arms. The sun baked him in a not-yet-uncomfortable glow as it had barely set, idly ignoring the dark side of the roof, a grin plastered over his young face as he watched the Sandman spreading dreams.

He'd spent his day in the North Pole harassing the workshops namesake. At some point, North decided enough was enough, and sent his Yetis after the immortal teen. So, Jack went in search of Sandy, knowing that the Kangaroos habitat would be much too warm for him. After finding the small yellow man, Jack tagged along behind him as he delivered his dreams, a brilliant smile pulling at his lips.

But even the Sandman had a job that needed more personal attendance, and figuring that it was best to leave the man be while he worked, Jack found himself basking in the red glow of the sunset. A fairy buzzed by, sneaking a peck on his cheek which earned her a 'thank you' and a wink. Jack watched several others follow suit, buzzing from house to house diligently. He then saw a larger form and called out in greeting at the Fairy Queen's sudden appearance.

"Hey, Tooth! Whatcha doin' out here?" The fair-haired boy spouted, rocking back on his bottom as he brought his arms around his knees as they bobbed against his chest, smiling at the beautiful fae. She returned a stunning grin, and flew a bit closer, the wind from her rapid wingbeats tusseling his hair.

"Oh, y'know...field work. I realized how much I missed it the other night, and just got this..._urge_...and so, here I am. Quite a coincidence to find _you _here, though." She eyed him playfully, in mock disapproval. He snorted in response, rolling his eyes before throwing another charming smile at her.

"Well, it's too hot where the Rabbit is, and North kicked me out for bad behavior. I thought I'd tag along behind Sandy for a while, just watch the sunset. Think. Y'know." He rubbed the back of his neck, hiding only minutely that he was really just lonely during these summer months, and prayed that Tooth hadn't noticed.

She watched him carefully, a colorful brow lifted, looking entirely as if she hadn't bought it. The sudden chirp of one of her companions reminded her of the object at hand; collecting teeth. She shrugged her shoulders at Jack, and offered a gentle smile.

"Alright. Well, maybe after I'm done here, I'll see if my route can spill into Sandy's, and we can all spend some more time together, 'kay?"

"Okay!" His joy was genuine. Jack had been alone for such a long time, having so much attention all at once had left him a glutton for companionship. He watched her shimmering colors as she disappeared into the distance, waving after her.

He felt sincerely happy, eyes sparkling in the glow of the steadily appearing stars. Jack's gaze turned up to find the moon as it rose and watch it instead, but something made him uneasy. The air changed, and he sat up hesitantly, brows quirked as he tried to identify where the niggling feeling was coming from.

A side glance of black caught his eye, and he bowled over for his staff, but the shadows were too quick. Pitch had a hold of him. Jack meant to yelp, to scream, to do anything in order to get either of the Guardians attention, but a cloud of black consumed him, smothering his face, and dragged him across the roofing, his fingers catching and pulling several tiles away.

Pitch nearly cackled, biting his lip from making a sound. Once his hands wrapped around the Winter Spirits wriggling, panicked -_and oh how sweet the panic tasted_- body, he dug his nails aggressively into the pinkish flesh, chuckling very quietly into the boys ear.

"_You refused to join my side against the Guardians, Jack. I suppose if you're still unwilling, I'll just take your powers, instead..." _He whispered against Jack's hair, grinning maliciously.

The boys eyes bulged. He couldn't do that, could he? Searing pain erupted from where Pitch's hands made contact with his arm and stomach, and Jack reeled forward, trying with all his might to escape it. _Apparently, he can_. He thought feverishly. In a moment of lucidity that saw him past the shock of seeing an inky black sickness rising through his veins, just under the skin that Pitch was touching, Jack bucked back, the force of his movement sending the back of his head smashing into Pitch's jaw. The spirit called out in a mighty, pained roar, the black sand dispersing just long enough to allow Jack to shriek; "SANDYTOOTHHELP!", before he found a long fingered hand wrapped around his throat. It's twin wound itself back around his waist, and the awful sensation started right back up, except that now the other point of contact was his throat. Jack could feel bile rising on his tongue as something black leaked from his eyes and nose.

Trying to cough over the choking hand and the poison corrupting his blood, Jack thought for just a moment that he wasn't going to make it. Neither Tooth nor the Sandman had heard him, and the now cold breathed fiend behind him would have his power and ultimately his life. He heard the horrendous laughter of his foe just behind him, and Jack felt steadily weaker. He head bobbed forward as far as Pitch's grip would allow, and through misted eyes, he realized they were no longer on the roof. In fact, they were nowhere near the ground.

A globe of black Nightmare Sand slowly rotated around them as they floated on a cloud of the same substance. Through the undulating splits in the sand, he could see the telltale wisps of Golden Dream sand, and a flick here and there of fluorescent green. _They're trying to save me._ If he could've smiled, he would have, but as another wave of pain overtook him, Jack simply trembled. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the rumble of thunder.

* * *

The tactics of the Guardians as they tried to free their friend were becoming steadily more futile. While the Nightmare King was focusing the majority of his power on stealing Jack's, the black sand globe was a rather impenitrible barrier that neither budged under Tooth's fists, nor corrupted under Sandy's touch.

"Let him _go_, Pitch!" Toothiana called, her fist making another impact in the sand. It rippled, stilled, and then continued on its way, repeating the same swirling motion of rotation. She shrieked in frustration, tears misting her eyes as she became steadily more angry. The Sandman's whips dug divits into the pattern, some of the sand mingling, before the black and gold would reject each other completely, and fall back into sway with their manipulators.

A crack of lightning struck dangerously near them, and Tooth spun away, feathers ruffled as her violet eyes widened in terror. Sandy paused only for a moment to ensure the safety of his colorful companion, before resuming his onslaught.

Trying several more times to break through, the little golden man huffed in annoyance, a spout of sand coming from each ear as his fists clenched. He looked about, considering the weather, both Pitch and Jack's distance from the ground, as well as his own. Another strike of lightning split the sky dangerously near the black globe, thunder following it, rattling his teeth as he covered his ears.

Damning patience, or true tactile planning as they had not the time nor the resources, Sandman formed a massive battering-ram above his head, golden dust blowing and reforming, tightening then granulating, ebbing and flowing as his eyes steeled and his resolve clenched just beneath the surface with the effort he took to hold the massive shape. What Sandy was about to do would take more energy and power than he was sure he could spare. Tooth fluttered in place, mouth wide as she watched the Sandman's brilliant work. He nodded over to her, using one hand to motion her away. She complied quickly.

A deep breath and a brief moment of concentration, and Sandy sent the battering-ram at Pitch's globe with as much force as he could muster.

* * *

Jack protested again, nearly unconscious from the constriction of his neck, wriggling futily against Pitch's iron grip. The man in question only held tighter, face drawn in concentration. But a few moments more and the Winter Spirit would fade entirely, leaving Pitch Black the King of Cold and Dark! His jaw clenched and his nails dug deeper. There was a pain coiling in his lower belly, as well as the back of his head, a cold ache that left him nauseous, but the determination with which he worked would not allow him to get sick. Not when he was so close.

Suddenly, everything went wrong. The globe around him shook violently, the black of his Nightmare Sand wavering, rippling from something, _some _point of contact to the lower right side. There was a nearly metallic groan that creaked throughout the dome. Eyes that had been pinched shut in focus blazed with a yellow rage as he stared, utterly confounded, at the Dream Sand that bubbled through his dark shell.

In one horrifying instant, it was split.

His grip on Jack Frost was lost, just before the massive pillar of gold smashed square into him, engulfing Pitch entirely and sending him spinning back. In that same moment, a clap of thunder announced an uncomfortably close strike of lightning, but it didn't stop! It was so close, that the stream of white-hot electricity jumped once, twice, thrice, and right into the Nightmare King. Pitch was lost to the scene for several moments with nothing more than a terrible shriek to announce his being as his silhouette writhed uncontrollably in the haze. Seeing the limp form of Jack Frost plummeting toward the ground, Toothiana yelped and dove after him. The Sandman panted from his exertion, but, to his express surprise, recovered quickly and looked with squinting eyes to find his foe. His Dream Sand was spread haphazardly, but there was a glassy distortion that seemed to hang in the air for too long, before a second darkly-clad figure followed the boys' descent. Sandy grimaced, thinking that Pitch was far too persistent for his own good.

Then he realized that his fall was uncontrolled. The Nightmare King spun weakly in a nose dive, crow feather hair whipping unkempt about his face. Sandman, not willing to let him crash to the ground and make even more of a mess, pursued, gathering his Dream Sand and sending it after Pitch. He caught him with ease, pulling him to a halt, suspended just feet above the pavement of the lower river road.

Both Tooth and Sandy landed near each other, she setting Jack's body gently on the ground a short distance from the very unconscious Nightmare King's form and kneeling by. The older man groaned, trying to turn onto his side. Tooth startled for a moment, before looking a bit closer with a furrowed brow.

"Sandy...look...he's got a gold stripe through his hair!" She cried. He turned his head the other way, stirring fretfully in his dreamless sleep. "There's another one there, too!" And she was right. From either temple, a shock of glistening pale gold, nearly white in color, went straight back, and tapered off into his familiar black locks. The Sandman stepped closer, an unsure, cautious expression crossing his face. He laid a very light hand on the mans forehead, nearly recoiling as Pitch twitched in response. His eyelids seized, but his moan was a bit quieter this time. He breathed out through his nose, and somewhere in the distance more lightning struck, followed quickly by its companion, thunder. His eyes opened finally, and both Guardians tensed. But his eyes...his eyes were...

"Green?" Tooth spoke again, incredulous. He gazed dizzily up at her and gave a weak, very un-Pitch-like smile. The smile quickly turned into a pained grimace as he buckled to the side, arms drawing around himself. "...Pitch?" She asked, still unsure. When he met her gaze again, it was confused, hairless brows upturned. When he responded, his voice was ultimately the same, and yet entirely more pleasant.

"Who?"


	2. Chapter 2

It was only moments after the vague revelation of Pitch's apparent memory loss that he followed Jack's actions previous, and fell unconscious. It seemed that he was quite a bit more injured than had originally been thought; as Sandy prepared to move him, the front of his cloak fell open. Tooth was lifting her wintery companion onto the massive pillow of golden sand that the Dream Weaver was going to use to transport the four of them to the Pole, (the decision had been made that North would most likely have the best idea of how to help, as well as having the proper instruments), when she nearly dropped him after seeing the Nightmare King's wound. A large, coal-dust colored scar radiated in a star burst across his chest, one strand of the marred flesh curling up and around his shoulder, disappearing from sight into the center of his back. She noticed as well that the grey of his skin had slowly subsided, fading into a more natural color of pale olive.

Tooth fluttered near him after resituating Jack in the sand, and delicately touched the tips of her fingers to the scar, eliciting a feverish shudder that had her pulling away. She looked between the two figures, heart twisted in concern for her fellow Guardian and...confliction for Pitch. Tooth wasn't sure what she should feel for him. Would caring mean betraying her friends, or was it forgivable because of her natural bleeding heart and the state of his being? She huffed at the thoughts swimming in her mind and looked to Jack. The black substance had stopped leaking from the Winter Spirits nose, eyes and mouth, so it seemed that whatever he'd done to the boy hadn't been lethal, but even so Jack looked as if he was barely breathing. She laid a hand aside his face, wiping away some of the dried, crusting filth from his pale cheek. Her other hand found Pitch's chest, caressing him in a way she could only assume was comforting. Looking up to the Sandman, she nodded her assent for them to leave.

* * *

It took them a surprisingly short amount of time to reach the North Pole, and as they flew over head of some of the working Yetis, the creatures looked up at the glimmering sand cloud and waved in recognition. Sandy dismissed their greeting; he was intent on finding help for his friend and an answer from his foe. Glancing over his shoulder only once to Tooth, she met his eyes with a watery gaze. The salt of dried tears stained the gloss of her neck feathers, and she sniffled, but waved her hand dismissively to him and looked away.

Turning back to the object at hand, the Sandman soon saw a red clad figure in the distance standing outside the doors of the workshop. North.

"I am expecting there is explanation?" The man asked. Tooth noticed right away the slight slur of his voice; it seemed Santa had gotten into the eggnog a bit early. She spoke up, having to pause and clear her throat of the tightness it'd acquired over the length of the trip.

"Yes. Jack is...Jack's hurt. Bad." She lifted the boy into her arms from the cloud and fluttered down to land in front of the Cossack. Sandy followed close behind, his dream sand forming a makeshift stretcher for their other guest. "And so is Pitch."

North's eyes widened even further than the Wonder he held inside usually allowed, sobriety shaken back into him hard. The two unconscious bodies displayed before him made the man switch gears from host to doctor very quickly. "This way, please." He said, voice flat as he gestured into the warm glow of his workshop.

* * *

A hot pressure washed over Kozmotis, and all in one horrible instant, he realized he was going to be sick. Rolling to the side with what little energy he had, the man heaved black bile over the side of his bed. There was an impatient growl from somewhere in the distance, and the General slowly resituated himself in the center of the mattress, wiping his arm across his face. His eyes still refused to open, grogginess pushing at the back of his lids. He mumbled a sincere apology, and tried to sit up.

"Careful, careful. Would not be doing that if I were you." The same voice chided him, a hand resting on his chest and pushing him back. A horrible pain ripped through his body from the point of contact and he yelped, eyes finally springing open, although his vision was terribly blurry. The first thing he could truly comprehend was blue. Large, crystalline blue eyes met his, and even as he breathed heavily from the residual discomfort, he was taken aback. The second thing he noticed was the gentle smell of pine, and the color theme of the large room he was in; red and white. _An odd combination for a medical ward_.

"My ap-" He was halted by a coughing fit, but soon continued,"-apologies. If you'll direct my to the linen closet, I'm sure I could clean my mess for you." Kozmotis' voice came out much less intelligible than he had hoped, and he glanced back into the much larger man's incredibly blue eyes, hoping that he'd been understood. The look he was given made him think that he hadn't made the slightest bit of sense, and so with a heavy breath, he was about to start again.

"I can cl-"

"No, no, I heard you." The man's enormous hand pressed surprisingly lightly against his brow. "Toothiana, are you very sure that he did not hit his head?"

More vivid colors drew his attention from the odd treatment. The creature that stepped, or _fluttered,_ rather, into view stole what little breath he had to spare away from him. She was one of the most beautiful faes he'd ever seen!

"Yes, North, I'm sure. I'm also sure that he was _struck by lightning, _which I think is a bit worse than a bump on the head, anyway." She spoke, voice just as beautiful as her peachy face. Her violet gaze drifted to him, and Kozmotis realized with horror that he was staring at her. He ducked his eyes, rolling onto his back yet again.

"North, is it?" He spoke, voice a bit clearer, in an attempt to break the tension. The man in question leaned slightly over him, a questioning brow raised. "I am quite fine. Surely just some bruising, maybe a scratch here or there. If you give me a bit of lunis root and a glass of water, I'm sure I can be out of your beard shortly."

North looked back to Tooth with a frown. She met his gaze, thoroughly confused. Taking a chance, based on what little he had been taught by Ombric about their foe when he was still apprenticed to the Wizard, the former Thief looked down at Pitch and asked in a steady voice, "What is being your rank, sir?"

Kozmotis' brow furrowed in thought, and then all at once he remembered, and internally chided himself for having forgotten in the first place.

"General. I am High General in charge the defense of Tzar Lunar himself. My battalion should have informed you of this already." He smiled up at North, who returned it. But there was melancholy in his eyes, as if he knew something that Kozmotis didn't, and it saddened him greatly.

Tooth stepped forward, and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. She glanced at North, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What's your name, General?" She asked, voice sweet, melodic, comforting. His brows knitted in confusion. _What an odd question, _he thought. _There is only one High General of Defense, surely the army medical staff know who I am..._

"Kozmotis Pitchiner." He answered quietly, slightly disturbed by how North frowned, and the fae's eyes misted over, as if she'd just heard some terrible news and was about to weep.

"Welcome home, General Pitchiner. My name is Nicholas St. North, and you have been gone for very long time."


	3. Chapter 3

It was quiet. Kozmotis sat back against the pillows on his bed, face passive, emotionless, dark rings under his haunted green eyes. He stared ahead, silently mapping the patterns and decorations on the wall. His hands were laced together, thumb stroking lightly across his knuckles. Every now and again, there would be a noise from a passing elf, the light breathing of his unconscious companion, or even a visitor. Tooth anxiously paced to-and-fro, moving from the adjacent room to his nearly every half hour. She'd check him, place her hand aside his face in an attempt to get him to look at her. He never would. She eventually moved on to the neighboring Spirit, whose name he was told but for the life of him could not remember. Something wintery.

In his opinion, the boy was much worse off than he, so Kozmotis was unsure as to why she fretted over him before the other. After all, the boys injuries were _his fault_, he reminded himself. As many times as both the fae and toy maker had tried to sway his cruel words and self loathing, the voice in the back of his mind still drilled into him that it was his fault as well for allowing the Fearlings to take him over in the first place. It was his fault for being weak. _Everything was his fault_...

North had not returned since explaining to Kozmotis about who he had been for almost an eternity by human standards. Many lifetimes over of corruption and evil. The destruction of countless generations wrought by the Nightmare King, Fear struck through the innocent in astounding _trillions._ The entire time that North spoke, he had a grim appearance about him. It suited the ill tidings he brought. The Tooth Fairy was sat on the edge of the bed very near him, her fingers just barely brushing his as the expression Kozmotis wore continued to darken during the telling of the tale. She wanted to touch him, wanted to comfort and hold him, but she hadn't allowed herself the privilege. The General had sat in patient silence, thumb committing the same pseudo-comforting motion over his pale fingers, eyes glassy. His brow furrowed in heartbroken confusion through the majority of North's tale, and for several minutes after finishing, all Kozmotis could do was slowly shake his head and drag in painful half-breaths through a closed, tear choked throat. A single silvery drop broke the dam of his dark eyelashes, and Tooth rocked foreword to wipe it away, but he leaned from her reach. North stood, rested a hand on Tooth's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, then ambled away to find something far more powerful than eggnog to help him forget. The fae, who was unable to coax anything else from her former enemy blinked away her frustration, and soon followed North. Kozmotis' eyes fixed on the wall then, and he hadn't moved since.

It had been hours before the door opened again, much harder than the last time he could remember, but Kozmotis didn't take much note. He vaguely registered yelling, angry words echoing through the large sterile room, but still didn't turn to assess who approached. That was until large, viciously strong hands -paws?- gripped the collar of the nightclothes North had provided, and threw him roughly against the ground.

A painful cracking noise issued from where his head bounced off the tile of the floor, and it took him a few moments to comprehend the ache that radiated from the back of his skull. Rolling to the side, Kozmotis groaned, and fell into another coughing fit. There was a shriek that he vaguely recognize as the Fairy Queen's, before a thickly accented voice hollered back. As the fuzziness of his mind cleared into the beginnings of what would undoubtedly be a splitting headache, he could finally understand them.

"What the _bloody hell _do you mean by bringing _him_ here, North!?"

The Cossack stepped foreword, Kozmotis recognized the heavy pound of his work boots. "Bunnymund, please, you must try to listen to reasoning." Came his placating voice. The General attempted to prop himself up, and felt soft hands on his arm; Toothiana.

"It's okay, let me help you." She said quietly.

"And what the fuck do you mean by _coddling_ him like this, Tooth?!" Kozmotis' eyes focused on what looked like a six foot tall hare as the fae helped him slowly to his feet. His knees buckled on the way up, and with a cry he landed back against the ground. But the feathered girl was on him quickly, holding him gently to her as he felt on his side for what it was that had most likely been broken by the force of his assailant's attack.

"Bunny, he hasn't done anything wrong-" "THE HELL HE HASN'T! He stole you fairies! And you were there when he pulled his little stunt three years back in the Warren, and you know _damn well _what he did to my...to my people..." Bunnymund huffed, eyes widening as he recalled the painful memories, before the fur on his shoulders rose again and his fists clenched. The rabbit advanced on him, and Kozmotis was about to raise his arms in defense, leaning back into Tooth, just as brilliant gold exploded throughout the room, the entirety of the group letting out a small yelp of surprise. When the light subsided, Kozmotis opened his eyes to the sight of the large rodent -who he was starting to recognize as a Pooka, and not a rodent at all- suspended in the air, golden Dream Sand wrapping about his middle, restraining his arms and legs from movement.

The Sandman stood on a cloud of the same substance, floating in the center of the group now. His face was scrunched angrily, and he wagged a finger at the Pooka, his eyes fierce though his gesture was more of scolding rather than true anger. He dispersed the cloud and dropped gently to the ground, waddling over to where Kozmotis was propped against Tooth. She was rubbing a comforting circle over his back, though he looked rather wearied by her touch.

It wasn't that he didn't like the contact, Sandy could see how much he appreciated her care in his weathered eyes, but her soft caress sent painful half-memories that he himself could barely understand to the forefront. Kozmotis bit his tongue to allow her the movement, wanting her to feel peace of mind over his own.

Sandy laid his hand on hers, stilling it against the center of the General's back. He smiled slyly at both of them, before lifting the pair into an adjacent bed with more sand, Toothiana pressed back against the cushions and Kozmotis leaned back into her, feathered chest his pillow. The Sandman turned back with a satisfied glance at a very confused North, and still outraged -but now gagged- Bunnymund, and ushered them out of the room.

"Wait! Sandy! What about...what about Jack?" Tooth finished quietly, leaning half way off the bed in an attempt to peel away from the man pressed against her chest. Kozmotis sat partially up, then winced in pain and doubled back with a hand pressed over his middle. She wrapped her arms around him as he fell against her and with upturned brows whispered, '_you okay?_' to which he nodded solemnly.

Sandy looked back at them and shrugged his shoulders, glancing with warm eyes at the boy in question, who still miraculously slept. He then held up both of his hands, the symbol of a tooth appearing over one in gold sand, and over the other a sythe. He then pressed his hands palms together, fingers entwined, and winked at them, before following after the other two, door closing behind.

Both Kozmotis and Toothiana stared after the group, and at the door for several minutes. Eventually, though, she cleared her throat awkwardly and made as if to leave, but a large, cold hand on her feathered shin stopped her.

"Please...stay with me? I...I don't think I should be alone this night." Came Kozmotis' quiet words, a glassy green look over his shoulder at Tooth staved her movement even more so than the contact. She nodded hesitantly, and settled back into the pillows, drawing her arms loosely around his shoulders.

She heard an even quieter '_thank you_' that broke her heart, and when eventually they both settled into an uneasy sleep, she held him a little tighter.


	4. Chapter 4

When Toothiana next awoke, it was late. Or...well, early, _very _early, by the time on the ancient grandfather clock in the corner of North's medical hall. Nearly two o'clock in the morning. She sat up quickly when she realized the man that had been resting nestled against her chest was absent, and without another thought, shot straight into the air and hovered above the bed, searching with squinted eyes for any sight of him. Her initial panic subsided when she considered that he was most likely in the bathroom, or had been struck by hunger and ventured off to find North or an elf, or the kitchen.

She yawned, stretched, then settled back down into the still warm sheets and rolled over, falling back asleep very easily.

Almost two hours later, the fae woke again, cold and shivering. She reached down as if to draw someone closer, but found her arms still empty. Sitting up a bit slower this time, she gazed at the clock again, and her violet eyes widened. _He's still gone..._

Tooth stood up, feet flat on the ground rather than flying, and walked hesitantly to the door. She opened it and stepped part way through, before glancing back and looking at Jack. He was still asleep. She worried her lip with her teeth for a moment, then took her leave.

Her first thought was to check the kitchens. Maybe he had been up that entire time, waiting for her to follow suit? Finding the large, open-arched room with relative ease, she poked her head through the doorway and took in the sight. Many, many elves, all hard at work baking and cleaning, while several yetis aided in both activities. Neither North, nor Kozmotis were there. She huffed, and ventured on to the next place she thought she might find him. The lavatory. She knew there was a large room full of stalls for the workers, but she assumed that he'd probably use the facilities in the hospital wing. Tooth cursed herself for not having checked there in the first place.

Turning the corner of the high ceilinged hallway, she flew silently just inches off the ground. The fae was much too tired to gain any real height. Finally reaching the room, she hovered past the beds, stopping by Jack's to press her lips in a chaste kiss to his forehead, brushing a lock a white hair out of his eyes. Tooth smiled as she looked down at him and lingered for a moment. He was getting better. She could tell.

She reached the bathroom whose door, while open, revealed only blackness. Something seemed wrong. There was candle light, flickering slowly, only minutely, as if the flame was about to extinguish. She peered through and softly called, "_Kozmotis?"_, before landing on the ground with dainty feet and stepping hesitantly inside. Her fingers automatically searched for the light switch, silently thanking North for updating his technology to suit modern times. She fumbled weakly for a few moments, before her hand finally found the switch and flipped it, violet eyes wide in their search for the General.

When she found him, the noise that escaped her was somewhere between a sob and a scream.

At first she only saw his legs, splayed out on the floor haphazardly, as he leaned weakly into the porcelain shower basin. Then, an abundant red caught her eye, a pool of it circling around him. The sharp tang of oxidized tin assaulted her nose, and she nearly wretched. Realizing then that her General was injured very badly, she rushed forward, forgetting her nausea. When he came into full view from behind the obstruction of the sink, Tooth cried out again, eyes filling with tears.

Kozmotis sat, doubled to the side with one arm slung over the wall of the bathtub, eyes closed, the natural pale olive of his skin gone, leaving a gaunt white in it's place. A knife was held limply in the hand that rested inside the tub, a deep gash in the wrist just above that leaked a staunch red, marring the pure porcelain it covered . His other hand, with a similar jagged slice, was lax to his side, a note nearby. Tooth could read the writing from where she was hovering.

_Let me die my cowards death;_

_If ever any of you respected me, I won't be saved._

Dropping quickly to his side, she tried her best to not kneel in his blood, but soon her feathers were a molten red, some of it browning as it dried. One hand found the wrist inside of the tub, encircling it firmly with an attempt to stem the flow. The other found his face, lightly patting his cheek, trying to wake him. He did not stir. She couldn't feel his breath on her face, no matter how close she pressed. His flesh was cool and clammy.

"NORTH!" She shrieked, desperate for help. The tears poured torrentially from her eyes, and in a last ditch effort, her palm found harsh contact with his face as she attempted to slap the life back into him. "_PLEASE, KOZMOTIS!" _She coughed out, sobbing over her words and pressing her forehead to his, whispering over and over again, "_Wake up, wake up, wake up, please wake up..."_

She heard rushed, heavy footsteps, and an expletive in Russian as the Cossak charged into the room, sliding partially on the slick tile.

North made his hurried approach just in time to see the General stir. First, his lips trembled, and his nostrils flared. Then his deep green eyes (dulled partially grey, inlaid by deep purple circles) blinked sluggishly open. His gaze found Tooth's, then North's, and he did not speak, nor did he frown, or grimace; Kozmotis made no mark of readable emotion. He simply nodded, head heavy and weak, as the former Thief lifted his gaunt figure into strong, warm arms, and carried him from the room, Toothiana following close behind with tears still falling heavily from her violet eyes, sickly red staining her incandescent feathers. His note was forgotten next to the tub, soaked in a deep red, black ink washing and diluting with his blood.


	5. Chapter 5

Recovery was an arduous task for Kozmotis Pitchiner.

It was a week and three days before he stirred; North had the mind that his actions took a larger toll on his body than he'd let on, while Sandy was of the opinion that he simply didn't want to wake up.

The Dream Weaver had decided he was of more use to the children at the General's side, as he could send his sand across the world from any given point. He traveled simply to see the kids and watch for nightmares, and as the Nightmare King was currently in dispose, he was unconcerned by their threat.

Toothiana hadn't taken his suicide attempt well. She'd left the Pole that night, and hadn't returned since, locking herself in her kingdom and returning to her old ways of sending her fairies off to do the work, while not daring to set foot or feather outside. She'd even missed Jack's return to consciousness.

The Winter Sprite in question had been confined to the Pole on North's orders, though he managed ways out every now and again, taking small, secretive trips to Burgess, and returning exhausted and in grievous amounts of pain to a _very _angry Toy Maker.

The boy was occupied then by the prospect of North's cooking upstairs in the kitchen, leaving only two very powerful, very opposite beings in the Medical Wing.

The Sandman, seated leisurely on the General's bedside, held aloft a golden chalice of eggnog to his lips; North's special recipe that the small round Spirit so enjoyed. He took a long sip, nearly draining the cup in one pull, before he was distracted by a hushed moan. His kind, golden eyes fell on Kozmotis' form, and he floated the drink on sturdy dream sand to the table near the head of the bed. Standing on wobbly, slightly tipsy legs, the Sandman took several hesitant steps to where the man was just beginning to sit up.

Sandy watched with a grimace at his mistake, though; his effort to push away from the bed with his hands pressed into the mattress for support strained his bandaged wrists. Kozmotis hissed at the pain, and fell back against the headboard, a silent curse on his tongue. His eyes widened when he noticed the Sandman watching him.

The golden man leaned forward, resting a comforting hand on the General's wrist, who looked away in shame after the fact. Sandy frowned. That simply wouldn't do.

Sidling a bit closer, the smaller man worked his way between Kozmotis' long limbs, and situated himself comfortably in his lap. He knew the prospects of friendly contact, and frequently used the cuddle tactic to calm the nerves of his fellow Guardians. Although, some took better to it than others, namely Jack and Toothiana. When he'd tried it with Aster and Nicolas, the latter had been uninterested, while the former had rebuffed him entirely. He hadn't been hurt by it; the Sandman had lived for eons, known companionship from countless beings, both spirit and mortal, and their acceptance or decline of his physical affection had been inconsequential to the friendship. But, much to his surprise, Kozmotis seemed to have at least partially accepted the contact.

He sat, arms limply akimbo, knees apart, (as Sandy had taken up residence between them, chubby arms wrapped part way around the slim man's torso), and face as red as a tomato. It took him several moments to move, eventually, -hesitantly-, returning the gesture, nuzzling wild, golden hair. He took in a deep breath of what smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and his eyes closed, long forgotten memories triggered by the familiar, comforting scent.

Eventually, the Sandman reached a tender hand to find Kozmotis' wrist, gripping the appendage and carefully peeling away the sanitary cloth. A barely healed, angry red scab stood out very plainly against the General's pale olive skin, and Sandy tutted mutely with a slow shake of his head, before leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on the wound.

Kozmotis watched him, transfixed by the ancient beings actions. Sandy looked up at him, a lazy smile pulling across his cherubic face, before he leaned up and placed a kiss on the end of the man's long nose. He nearly shrank away, so unused to physical contact after millennia lost to the Fearlings, but found the affection more pleasant than anything else, and so he pressed his lips to the golden man's forehead, taking in that fantastic scent again. The Sandman looked on him with fondness, his much smaller hand reaching up to cup Kozmotis' gaunt cheek.

He knew his presence radiated a wonderful glow that brightened this moment of the General's life for the better, and so for what seemed like hours, they simply sat, embracing each other's warmth, for which the darker man was very thankful. He appreciated North's hospitality, and was a fan of the cold usually, but the drafts that came through the rarely used area were enough to set his teeth chattering.

Eventually, the door jarred open, and two sets of eyes traveled to the origin. A white head peeked through part way, bright eyes and a gloriously charming smile following.

"Oh…hey, Pitch, you're finally up at the same time I am!" Crowed the unmistakable voice of Jack Frost. Kozmotis flinched at the name, but said nothing. Sandy noticed, his grip tightening affectionately for a moment, before he gestured the boy in with a wave of his hand.

Jack smiled, bouncing across the room with his staff slung loosely over his shoulder. He sat perched on his toes at the foot of the bed, smirking.

"You guys seem friendly." He cooed, rolling the shepherds' crook in his hand. Kozmotis blushed handsomely again, the Sandman patting his knee for a bit of reassurance. "Don't worry, I've had my share of cuddles with Sandy. He's just one of those people." He said, laughing the subject off. He rolled backward to his rear, sitting cross legged on the mattress, and scooting a bit closer.

"I heard about..." Jack lowered his voice, speaking a bit more solemnly with a nod to the General's wrists. "You alright?"

Kozmotis met his gaze, deep, sad green and piercing blue locked for one desperate moment of begged forgiveness. "Yes." Was the darker man's reply, quiet, unsure, slightly broken but nearly healed. Jack smiled wide in return, his hand reaching out to grasp Kozmotis' reassuringly.

"Y'know, I don't blame you for what happened. When you were all Nightmares and black sand and stuff. What you did…I mean, you had no idea what you were doing or why you were doing it. I sorta know what it's like…to not be in control. And I don't blame you." The Frost Spirit said, voice lacking its usual charm. The General looked up at this, confusion writ across his long face.

"North told me. What happened, I mean." The boy said earnestly.

"Then you must know that _my _name isn't Pitch Black." Spoke the man, no hint of upset in his words for the mistake.

Jack nodded, laughing a bit and rubbing the back of his neck. Sandy smiled wider at the boy's sudden shyness.

"Oh, yeah, no…I know. I just…I don't remember your real name. Cosmo? I think that's it, right?"

The Sandman nearly toppled over in his pantomimed laughter, while Kozmotis raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Eventually though, he resigned to a warm half smile that encouraged Jack to believe the man was not actually upset with him.

"It'll do, I suppose."

_Is my OT3 showing yet?_


End file.
